There Will Be Blood
by mrsaturtle
Summary: Werewolves are killing Britons, and Hermione needs to make a deal with their Alpha, Fenrir Greyback. He agrees to help but neither one of them understands the dangers of this agreement or the feelings that will be brought out during their time together. Can Fenrir resist the smell of Hermione forever, or will the animal win out?
1. Prologue

**I couldn't resist. It's been clawing at my brain.  
*Throws new story at you*  
*Runs off to computer to continue writing***

**Enjoy ;)**

* * *

"Hermione," came a voice from the fireplace in the library of Grimmauld place. She jumped a foot into the air, hovering there for a moment in her fright. Looking at the glowing embers, she saw the face of Kingsley Shacklbolt peering at her. His ordinarily brown eyes glowing red, an image Hermione didn't like.

"Yes, Minister," Hermione said, lowering herself back down onto her sofa.

"Stop with that, I've told you –," Kingsley paused, taking a deep breath. "I need you at the Ministry right now, I'm sorry. Bring Harry if he's there."

Hermione nodded, and before she could fully stand up, she heard the small pop from the fireplace and knew the Minister had left.

Harry didn't ask questions, too used to jumping up and being ready at the slightest need. It wasn't five minutes later when they were flooing directly into the Minister's office.

Kingsley was surrounded by a few of Aurors, the Head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement, and Percy Weasley.

"Good, thank you for coming so quickly, we've had an attack. The Coltens are dead, including their two young children," Kingsley paused, as Hermione choked back a sob. The Minister met her eyes before he added, "It was werewolves."

* * *

_**Another brutal attack brings the death toll up to thirteen**_

_As many readers know, the Daily Prophet has the most exclusive information on the savage attacks by the new werewolf pack that's roaming the countryside. We've shared owls with the newly named pack leader, a man who goes by the name Cathan Winters and through the many letters, one thing has become clear to the editors here at the Prophet. The Ministry isn't doing enough to protect the public —._

Hermione Granger threw the paper into the rubbish bin without reading the rest of the article. She was fed up with the Prophet and the daily assumptions that the Ministry was sitting on their hands, ignoring the problem with the Winters Pack. It was all her department had been focused on for the last three months, pushing back so many projects, bills, and the creation of new laws, just in the hope that someone could figure out a way to stop the attacks.

They were getting desperate, with Aurors now taking up the charge to try and track down the savage men and women who no longer needed the full moon to create chaos and enjoy murder. Hermione had barely seen Harry and Ron over the last month, with as many extra shifts as they were taking.

It had been two years since the battle, and outside of the four months following the end of the war, when Death Eaters were rounded up and sentenced, the wizarding community had been quiet and on the mend. These new attacks were sparking the same kind of fear the Voldemort had caused. She understood the public's anger, but they were truly doing all they could.

Hermione took a sip of her, now, cold tea before pointing her wand at it to try and warm it up, when there was a knock at the door. On the other side of the opaque glass that said "Hermione Granger, Head of the Sentient Creatures Department," she saw a slight figure.

"Come in," she said, giving her tea another try, pleased when the warmth somehow managed to cool her temper.

Hermione couldn't help but smile as Luna Lovegood walked into her office. Still as peculiar as ever, Luna offered something no one else in the department did, her uncanny ability to sense creatures and understand them. Most of the time, Hermione had to show her the proper names for the creatures they were discussing, but otherwise, Luna was an absolute dream to work with.

"Good morning, Hermione," Luna said in her wistful voice, coming to sit in the chair in front of Hermione's desk.

"Morning, Luna. Would you like a cuppa?" Hermione asked her friend, who shook her head quickly. Luna than pulled out a worn, red book she had been carrying and laid it in front of Hermione, opening it to the page she had marked with her finger.

Looking at Luna, who nodded, Hermione read the passage but had to read it through two more times before she could make sense of the words.

_Unlike other magical creatures, the werewolves unique characteristics of living as two species give them both a blessing and a curse. As many know, a werewolf will always answer the call of another lycanthrope. Though some have been said to answer the call of a regular wolf as well. Werewolves also feature a unique attribute that is unique to only these types of wolf, the pack bond. _

_When a wolf is created, it's sire is now the newly created wolf's Alpha, and all Alphas demand the utmost respect, but this is solidified by the magic that flows through the werewolf person. This respect becomes a compulsion that few can breakthrough. When a wolf does ignore a command from an Alpha, it is considered a challenge, and a fight to the death must occur, with the winner taking control of the new pack. Even more surprising is that a rogue wolf can submit to another pack's Alpha if he allows the Alpha to bite over the existing bite mark of the werewolf._

Hermione closed the book and looked at Luna, who looked solemn. She couldn't help the question as it fell from her lips, "This means?"

"That we have to make a deal with Fenrir Greyback."

* * *

_To be continued. . ._


	2. You Have Been Warned

***Laughs hysterically*  
A prologue certainly wasn't good enough on its own ;)**

* * *

**You Have Been Warned**

* * *

Fenrir continued to pick at his teeth with the stone toothpick he always kept with him. It was charmed by the guards so that it couldn't pierce skin, so he didn't have a weapon. Honestly, it was a joke that the guards wanted to ensure he hadn't been given a weapon because no matter what charms the guards used on him, he always had two weapons on him. His hands when they turned to claws and the fangs he no longer kept concealed. Eating raw meat daily meant that you had a regular issue with sinew and tissue fibers getting stuck between your teeth. He had spent two weeks howling about it before the guards finally relented.

He had been surprised to hear that he was expecting visitors for the first time since being put in Azkaban. His parents and siblings had died over a hundred years prior, and he had never expected his old pack to come to visit him. However, he had secretly hoped the pup would show up eventually. He had spent many hours pacing his small cell worried about her fate, his innocent protege, who had never bitten anyone. Even with the Dementors gone from the prison fortress, it was still cold, frigid, and dark. Fenrir hadn't been given any indication as to who his visitors might be, outside of being told to scrub clean in the cold shower. He was given, and the fresh, clean outfit he'd been given. Whoever his visitors were, they must matter to the guards.

Fenrir couldn't help the grimace at the thought of what mattered to the guards. As a pack leader, he knew the proper way to care for people, especially people that you have sworn to protect and care for. And though the guards saw the prisoners as less than human, they should be kept to the same standards. Yes, all prisoners were fed, clothed, and kept semi-clean, but that was the only sort of care they were given. No mental stimulation for those that needed it, no time to stretch their muscles in a bigger area than the cages they were kept in.

He couldn't help the growl that left his lips, at the thought that passed through his mind, remembering the length of his sentence. Years didn't matter to a werewolf, they easily lived for five hundred years before their bodies even began to show any aging. His fellow prisoners knew they would die within the walls of Azkaban, but Fenrir had been sentenced to a lifetime. And the horrible ministry official that he had dealt with had all but ignored him when he had asked whose lifetime they were counting. If Fenrir hadn't already been restrained, he might have enjoyed threatening the pompous wizard with his claws.

But Fenrir's way forward had been clear the moment the Dark Lord had died, he had to show his humanity, the part of him he had been forced to hide away for the last half-century. Though Fenrir was thrilled that the Potter boy had killed the Dark Lord, Fenrir couldn't help but feel a bit jealous. After all the things the Dark Lord had done to keep Fenrir in line, he wished he had felt the last pulse of warm, coppery blood gush against his fangs.

Fenrir heard a door open further down the hallway from the room he was chained in and was surprised when he noted one of the scents. Familiar, but it had been years since he had gotten a whiff of its delicious notes. A mixture of lilac and parchment, under all of that, the scent of anxiety. A crisp scent that made Fenrir want to whine. Every time he had met her, he had smelled it.

He was only granted thirty seconds before the door opened, and his _guests _entered the room. The witch in front had certainly grown up in the two years since the end of the war. Though the Ministry robes wore her, he could still make out her delicate curves as she moved. He fought the urge to lick his lips at the sight. Though he knew it was rude to want a woman so bad, he couldn't reasonably be blamed, especially with one so ripe near him. The Azkaban guards the came in behind her, he ignored, as usual.

"Good morning Greyback," Hermione said, and Fenrir couldn't help but smirk as he heard her heart race as her brown eyes looked him over. He was suddenly thankful that he had kept working out and had been given a shower.

"Morning, girly," Fenrir said, fixing her with the most wicked smile he could produce.

"Greyback, have you heard the news lately?" she asked, and he could see the way her jaw clenched. Was it him, or was she annoyed about something else?

"I saw no reason to bother with those rags. Why do you ask?" Greyback responded, curiosity stirring in his mind. Why would she care if he kept up with the prophet?

"Well, Greyback, it seems some of your former _pack _learned to enjoy Voldemort's antics, and have grown rather fond of killing," Hermione said as she pulled a copy of the wizarding newspaper from her robes. She had ignored the snarl that he had issues at her at the mention of the Dark Lord's name, and he wasn't sure why he was so pleased to see the slight tremble in her hands as she pushed the paper towards him.

Fenrir leaned forward, noticing how the witch before him sat further back in her own chair, to read the headline. As he skimmed the article, he couldn't help the growl that broke his tight lips. So Winters had finally cracked, he had always known that boy was a sadistic piece of shit, but now was the proof. Though Fenrir would never say, he had made a mistake in turning the boy, who had been so young when he had found the starving little scamp. He had noticed many dangerous traits in the young wolf. Winters had been a loyal supporter of the Dark Lord, enjoying the senseless murder that the snake-like wizard had promised and rewarded. Not needing to know anymore, Fenrir leaned back in his chair and watched as the Granger witch let out a breath she had been holding.

"Seems the Ministry has quite a problem on their hands," Fenrir said, and though he gave her his best and most evil sneer, his heart clenched at the needlessness of the murders.

"Yes, and we have come to seek your help," Hermione said, and before she could continue, her words were cut off.

"You need their _Alpha_, don't you?" Fenrir already knew the answer.

The witch before him seemed caught off guard, and he couldn't help but roll his eyes. From what he had heard, Granger actually wanted rights for all magical creatures. Still, there was no way the witch would understand the complexities of a werewolf, let alone a pack.

"Yes," Hermione said simply.

"Well then, I have some conditions," Fenrir said.

"We assumed you would," Hermione replied, though Fenrir could hear the hint of bitterness in her voice. He had to remind himself, as he had done all throughout the war, he had a part to play, an image to maintain, and he could _not _break down now. Not when he was this close to freedom. "I'll explain the terms, and you can request what you would like, and I will see if it's acceptable."

Fenrir smirked but stayed silent as the witch pulled another thing from the depths of her robes. She unrolled a scroll of parchment and looked at him carefully before she began to read.

"Fenrir Greyback, per the conditions of your aid to the Ministry, you will be granted a reduced sentence of ten years that you will serve immediately following the capture of Cathan Winters. In addition to this change in your sentencing, the Ministry has set up a committee and fund for members of your pack who are found innocent of the crimes that the Winters Pack has conducted. Those members will be granted housing, job support, and monthly Wolfsbane potion access every month. After your release from Azkaban, you will be granted access to the same services."

Fenrir leaned back and studied the witch carefully, he couldn't believe the change in Ministry policy when it came to his kind, but he couldn't help but be irked by the rest.

"I will _not _serve another ten years after helping you round of Winters. I will be free at the end, though if you want to keep an eye on me _yourself girly_, I won't object to that," Fenrir sneered, enjoyed the spike in her heart rate again.

The witch stayed silent for some time before she pulled a large galleon from her robe pockets, she immediately tapped it with her wand. When the large coin glowed, the witch paid it no more attention and continued to stare at him. Fenrir was on the edge of asking her what the bloody hell that was about when the thing glowed again.

"The Minister agrees to your conditions, but adds a stipulation, your wand and magic will be traced for the ten years instead, to ensure you don't slip back into your ways," Hermione spoke with a tone of finality. Though Fenrir desperately wanted to get another rise from the witch, he couldn't believe his luck. Though he didn't possess a wand, he assumed that would be fixed, and as there was _no _risk of him returning to the way he behaved during the war, he'd let them think it was a huge annoyance.

"Fine," Fenrir said. Pausing, he sneered at the witch again and growled, "So when do we begin girly."

"Immediately, you will be released today and taken into Ministry custody," she explained. She picked up the newspaper, parchment, and coin and placed them back into the pockets of her robes.

"Ministry custody, what exactly does that mean?" Fenrir asked growling. He was not about to consent to live in some other version of a prison.

"It means you will be living with a ministry official, who's home has been given the highest levels of protection, where you can retreat when you are not chasing the pack down," Hermione said, though Fenrir could hear the way her voice shook and her heart raced again.

"And who exactly will I be _living _with?"

"Me, actually," Hermione said.

Fenrir was stunned; he would be living with the perfect little Gryffindor. At the same time, he hunted down his pack members, it was like he was finally being given the vacation he had so desperately wanted for years. No, he was not upset at all about this new prison.

"You think it's safe for you to _live _with me, girly?"

"I have no problem turning my wand on you, Greyback," the witch's jaw was clenched. Fenrir smirked when her eyes flashed dangerously, this was going to be the most enjoyable prison he had ever been in.

"Let's see if you can resist my _wand _for that long girly. It's dangerous to live with a werewolf, or didn't you know that?"

"I can handle myself, Greyback."

"I'm sure you can, _Hermione_, but you have been warned."

* * *

_To be continued. . ._


	3. What's Your Poison?

**I know it's been a long time, but I have a present :D**

***giggles and hands over a new chapter***

* * *

_**What's Your Poison**_

Hermione sighed and leaned against the wall, moments after Fenrir Greyback had been escorted back to his cell. _Get a grip on yourself, you CANNOT find this monster attractive_. But oh did she. No longer unkempt, smelling of sweat and blood, he was positively mouth-watering. No, she needed to get control over herself before she made a mistake. And the way her name had fallen from his lips, with the most delicious growl.

She and Harry had already set up the house she would be calling home until Cathan Winters was caught, making sure that her room was well protected from the likes of Fenrir Greyback, that wards were up to protect them both from anyone who held a grudge to the werewolf, or if the Winters pack came to get Greyback. She had multiple emergency portkeys stashed around the house, though she wasn't sure if she would need them for Greyback or for worse enemies. Either way, she could _not_ find this man attractive.

_It's because you've gone too long, need to remedy that_. Hermione clenched her jaw, sure that she could convince her _lover_ to come over and have his way with her. She just hoped her werewolf house-guest wouldn't cause issues. She tried to think about how long it had been since she had enjoyed the rough, calloused hands of Charlie Weasley, and she reasoned it had to be at least eight months since she had last spent the night in his arms.

Once she got what she needed, it would be easier to be in Greyback's presence. Though the nagging voice in the back of her mind was quick to point out that she was essentially using Charlie as a way to control her lust for a dangerous werewolf, who had, in fact, attacked Charlie's brother. Hermione sighed and ran her hand down her face, this was going to be harder than she had realized.

Before she could debate using Charlie Weasley as her knicker-soaking, dragon-wrangler friend with lots of benefits, her coin in the pocket of her robes grew hot.

_Need help with the escort?_

_HP_

Hermione smiled, almost hearing the way Harry would have asked that, his voice full of concern. He had been the most uneasy of her friends with the idea of her living with Fenrir Greyback. Still, she was also the only one who could possibly gain anything from the arrangement.

Hermione, now Head of the Department and Control of Magical Creatures, had spent two years since the battle, changing almost every law she could get her hands on. She had created a branched off sub-department called Access for Sentient Creatures. Although she was still struggling with certain people in the Ministry when it came to goblins, centaurs, and house-elves, she had been able to push through laws regarding werewolves with some ease. Especially after Remus Lupin's sacrifice in the battle had come to light. Hermione hoped that in death, Remus was proud of her efforts to help those with his condition.

It had been easy to convince the Wizenagmont to approve funding for werewolves who agreed to the conditional use of Wolfsbane. Still, she was desperate to fund research on the condition. Even if all they accomplished was to make the Wolfsbane Potion taste better, that would be a success for her. But that wasn't what she truly wanted, no Hermione was convinced that with enough research there might someday be a possibility for a vaccine or cure.

And having Fenrir staying with her would provide her with much-needed research and in-depth knowledge about the condition. There was a lot to gain, but as Hermione sighed, also a lot to lose if she couldn't control her urges around the werewolf.

Tapping the coin in her hand, she ensured Harry that she was fine, and placed it back in her robes.

Ten minutes later, Hermione's heart quickened when Fenrir Greyback came strolling down the hallway dressed in jeans and a tight blue flannel shirt, which hugged his muscles far too well for Hermione's comfort.

Swallowing, she stood up straight, forcing herself to at least look resolved, "Ready Greyback?"

"To leave this place? I've never been more ready for anything, girly."

Hermione couldn't ignore the smirk Greyback wore as he looked at her, especially when his eyes tightened on her neck. She grimaced and made her way to the door, aware that he was following her.

Seconds later, Hermione stood in the front garden of the small cottage she and Greyback would be sharing for the foreseeable future. It was a little cottage with an overgrowth of vegetation surrounding the house, including a bit of devil's snare near the window of Hermione's bedroom, and extra precaution Neville had been determined to leave her with.

"Smells old," Greyback said, and Hermione turned to see the werewolf's nose crinkled as though disgusted.

"It has been uninhabited for almost a decade, with little care, but we did what we could. I'm sure it's better than your cell in Azkaban," Hermione said her words sharp as she considered the wolf before her.

"That it is _girly_, and I plan to enjoy my freedom from that cell in more ways then one," Greyback said with a growl that caused the hair on the back of Hermione's neck to stand on end.

"Let's go inside and have some tea while I explain some of the other conditions of your release," Hermione said and, without waiting for a reply, walked towards the house, her wand sliding down from inside her sleeve, as she waved it unlocking the heavy wooden door.

She didn't look back to see if Greyback was following her, she didn't need to, she could feel his presence. She walked through the small front room, into the slightly bigger kitchen. Hermione hurried around, making tea, falling into the old habit she had learned from her mom. That a warm cup of tea could help make even the most uncomfortable of things more comfortable. Facing the cooker, she was slightly relieved when she heard the chair near the small table scrape across the old stone floors. At least Greyback hadn't run away.

"While I won't say no to a cup of warm tea, I think this conversation calls for something a little stronger, don't you think girly?" Fenrir said, his voice deep and measured, and Hermione was sure by the way her body throbbed that his eyes were raking up and down her body. "So, what's your poison _girly_?"

Hermione turned, leaning against the counters behind her and eyed the werewolf carefully, "I'm assuming you mean something like this?"

With a swish of her wand, a panel above the dining table swung open, revealing a well-stocked liquor stash. Though she wasn't usually much of a drinker, Ron had taken her shopping for what he called "necessities" before she moved in with Greyback.

"That is _exactly_ what I meant," Greyback's dark eyes had widened at the sight of the stash, and he quickly pulled a bottle of firewhiskey from the alcove. He twisted the cap off quickly, and before Hermione could mutter a single word, he had brought the bottle to his lips.

She was going to say something to him about it, but the kettle began to whistle before she could move her lips. Shaking her hair, causing a few curls to fall from her bun, she turned back towards the cooker and began to prepare the tea. She hadn't bothered to ask what type of tea Greyback preferred, and now that she thought of it, it had been somewhat of an oversight. Hermione only ever kept PG Tips at Grimmauld Place. With a grimace, she turned back to the table with the tea tray.

Her eyes went to the now half-empty bottle of firewhiskey, her brows knitting together. "Good Godric Greyback, could you go easy on the liquor?"

Greyback's brown eyes swept up and down her body before he stared into her eyes with a curious glint. "Don't worry, _girly_, I saved plenty for you. It would take a lot more than one bottle to affect me, but it does leave you burning pleasantly, don't it?"

Ignoring his comment, though, filing it away for later when she would inevitably go to the market again. She handed him a cup of tea and asked, "Why do you insist on calling me girly Greyback?"

Fenrir Greyback had lifted his teacup to his nose, smelling the contents as though trying to detect any poison. Though Hermione could tell he was seriously cautious, she couldn't help but chuckle.

"Why would I bring you all the way out here, Greyback, if all I wanted to do was murder you?" Hermione laughed.

"Old habit, _girly_," he responded, finally taking a sip of his tea. He added about a heavy shot of firewhiskey to the cup before he continued to drink. "And I insist on calling you girly because you are of the womanly kind, but I'm sure you're far too innocent to have fallen into bed before marriage, so amongst wolves, you would still be considered a girl."

Hermione gasped, she could not believe he had alluded to the idea that Hermione was a virgin. Before she could think she all but shouted at the wolf, "I'll have you know I have fallen into bed, and with more than one man and for your information, another woman as well. So stop calling me girly this instant."

Hermione clapped her hands over her mouth, wishing against hope that she could put the words back. Still, she could see by the expression on Greyback's face there would be no way that Greyback would ever forget what she just said. Damn werewolf strength and being unable to use memory charms against them.

Greyback licked his front teeth, an action that Hermione wasn't ready to admit did have an effect on her. His eyes studied her, and Hermione was suddenly very aware that he was as much a predator as a natural wolf, if not more so. Unbidden, the thought of Greyback's long fingers caressing her and tasting her skin, came to her mind. She was unable to keep the groan from escaping.

"You're going to need to get that under control _Granger_ if you hope to make it away unscathed from me near the full moon." Hermione's eyes widened at his words, he couldn't possibly be talking about... "I can control the monster almost always, except near the rising, and I dare say if you haven't sorted out your issue, you won't be given much of a choice." Fenrir's voice was deep, his words, Hermione could tell, a true caution coming from the werewolf.

Standing up, Hermione walked quickly to her bedroom, ignore the sound of Greyback sniffing her as she passed. Indignant that he would bring up something so personal to someone he barely knows and in the professional capacity they know knew each other in.

Flopping onto her bed, she looked around the room. Her owl was perched atop its stand on her desk, but hiding in her nightstand was why this little cottage had been hooked up to the power grid.

Hermione bit her lip, she could owl Charlie and hope he had time tonight, or she could take care of herself. She almost sat up but stopped when she thought of enjoying Charlie Weasley's body when all she wanted right now was a werewolf who was currently shuffling around the house they shared. No, she couldn't do that to Charlie, she would just have to take care of it herself.

With a flick of her wand, she locked and silenced the door and opened her nightstand, extracting her two favorite electronic devices.

* * *

_To be continued. . ._


	4. Play Dirty

**Oh my dear readers, I'm so happy to see so many of you again. I'm going to keep throwing chapters at you as long as the muse keeps talking. Hope you all enjoy this smutty little chapter ;)**

**PS your comments/reviews fill me so much joy, please consider leaving one. **

* * *

_Hermione_

* * *

Hermione stood, laying her two vibrators down on the bed, and crossing over to her wardrobe to remove her clothing. She knew she could have just lifted up the skirt of her robes and the yellow summer dress she wore underneath, but she preferred to have her whole body available for the pleasurable spell work that was about to ensue.

It had taken her a few rounds with Charlie Weasley to learn the sometimes complicated spells that could bring her more pleasure than she could imagine. Before long, she had mastered them for herself and put them to use.

Staring at her body in the mirror of the wardrobe, Hermione runs her fingers lightly down the skin of her chest and abdomen. Purposefully she ignores the peaks atop her rather large chest. It had taken a full year for her figure to fill back out after the war, and the time of near starvation while they hunted the Horcruxes. She now had hourglass curves, her muscled thighs meeting, she was soft in all the right places, and had never heard a complaint from her bed partners.

Using her wand, she cast her spell over two thin pieces of leather as she made her way back to the fourposter bed. Once she laid down in the middle, she swirled her wand again, enjoying the pull of the restraints on her wrist and ankles. She always kept an arm free, just in case she needed her wand in a hurry.

Charming the strips of leather, she had them teasingly slide over her nipples, bringing them quickly to a peak atop her luscious breasts. Sighing already at the delicious heat radiating within her core, Hermione made quick work of the two vibrators. Charming the girthy, purple one to enter her slowly at first. The other almost wand-like one, she made rest just above her clit, and circle around the currently hidden nub. She began to let the magic and heat build within her body.

* * *

_Fenrir_

* * *

Fenrir had chuckled as the little witch had stormed from the kitchen. It had been a surprise to him that she was experienced, but clearly, she wasn't mature enough to discuss it openly. Part of being an Alpha was recognizing specific traits in the people he came into contact with. Fenrir knew that the witch he shared a house with was a vixen, a freaky one if he had to guess. Though he was grateful for his chance at freedom, he wouldn't deny himself the bookish witch if she offered. But he knew the chances of that were nil.

He drained the last of his tea and grabbed the almost empty bottle of firewhiskey. He was set on exploring the house he would be sharing with Granger. He still wasn't sure exactly what his role would be when it came to catching up with Winters, or how soon he would need to begin. Until then, he would keep himself busy, doing absolutely nothing. It had been years since he had tasted that kind of freedom.

He found the bathroom was the first door on the left, just off the hallway that had led from the front room to the kitchen. Just by the scent, he could tell that the two bedrooms he stumbled across were not inhabited. Eyeing them both, he reasoned he would make the decision later after the witch rejoined him. He was nearing the last two doors at the end of the hall when he caught a whiff of the witch in question.

Stalking closer to the closed door, he could see the flickering light of candles from under the door but could hear nothing coming from the room itself. He smirked, the hint of arousal he had noticed in the kitchen was much more pronounced now. Fenrir didn't have to guess what was happening on the other side of the door, the naughty witch was taking care of her own needs.

The thought caused Fenrir's pants to grow tight, and for the first time in years, his hand fell to the bulge growing there. There had never been privacy in Azkaban, though that hadn't stopped others from seeking the little bit of pleasure they could. That was their business, though, and Fenrir refused to settle for the callouses of his own hand knowing the other prisoners could see him.

It wasn't an issue of privacy. Fenrir had enjoyed werewolf orgies, around the full moon, in the past, so any type of sexual pleasure, in his mind, didn't require any form of hiding. However, it was difficult enough to plunge into willing women and wolves, knowing his mate was still out there. He wasn't about to fight through the urge to find her when all he had was his hand for company.

Released a possible century earlier than his sentence had allowed, Greyback was quick to give in to the lust that he had tried to keep bottled up in prison. Unable to deny the sweet scent of the witch's arousal that hung in the air around him, Fenrir unbuttoned his jeans and placed his own hand on her throbbing member. He almost fell to his knees at the first stroke of his own hand. Putting a hand on the door frame of Granger's room, he leaned forward, desperately wishing he could undo the silencing charm she had placed on her room.

Fenrir could not recall a single time that a witch's arousal was enough to harden him and make him pant with need, but that was irrelevant now. As he began to move his fingers along his length, the smell in the other room began to strengthen. Fenrir could tell the little witch was getting quickly to her edge. He expected her to burst at any moment, but thirty seconds passed. A minute and Fenrir could tell that she hadn't gushed yet, and her arousal was slowly diminishing.

Without thinking, Fenrir leaned his forehead on the door and began to speak.

"Oh girly, you smell so gooood," Fenrir rasped, his hand furiously pumping. Though he couldn't hear her reaction, he noted that her arousal scent had begun to strengthen again.

"It's been years since I enjoyed the pleasure of a naughty witch, and what I would give to feast between your delicate folds. I bet you taste amazing, girly," Fenrir was getting so close to the edge of his own arousal. Still, he desperately wanted to taste the air when she finally gushed. "You just say the word, and I'll eat you up and offer myself to you as a snack. Oh girly, the things I would do to you."

Without a wand, Fenrir was powerless to do any magic that would allow him to see her or hear her. Through the haze of arousal, he made a mental note to remedy that as soon as possible. If this became a regular thing, smelling his housemate's arousal, he would need more than just her scent and a locked door to feel satisfied.

Unbeknownst to most outside of werewolf packs, the need to rut was imbedded in a werewolf's DNA. Whether it was the witch on the other side of the door or a random muggle, Fenrir would need to meet his needs before the next full moon if he hoped to stand a chance of taking on Winters.

Fenrir, with his head leaning against her door, about lost his footing when he felt the tremble of power sweep past him and deep into his body. He had never felt anything like that before, but it sent an immediate rush of pleasure to his manhood.

Now enveloped in her sweet scent, Fenrir's hand sped up, realizing that the witch had finally found her pleasure. The werewolf pictured the witch spread eagle on her bed, whatever it looked like, as he began to shake with his own pleasure. It took him more than thirty seconds to stop the flow from his still hard member. With a small growl, he recognized that one round was not going to be enough for his neglected body. Without another word, he moved away from the door, and down into the first bedroom he had found.

It smelled better than the other, and to his delight, had an en suite. He quickly lost track of time and count as he tried to get his erection to die down. The witch's imagined image in the other room kept him hard for far longer than he had expected.

* * *

_Hermione_

* * *

Back in her room, Hermione laid perfectly still. She was sure she had put up a silencing charm, but how else would Greyback have known what she doing in the privacy of her bedroom? Once she had heard his deep voice growling at her through her door, she had quickly reached a peak higher than any she had achieved before. She had never screamed so loud in her life.

With a wave of her wand, she released all the charms she placed, allowing her hand and ankles to come free and the long leather strips to fold themselves neatly on the nightstand beside her. Her cheeks flushed as she realized that she would now have to face the werewolf. What if Fenrir mentioned it in front of Harry or members from the Ministry. He had thought her a virgin, and now he might consider her the opposite. Though she didn't believe in what people termed as "slut shaming" she also wouldn't want her friends and work circle to know how needy she could be. It was something she kept under tight wraps, even her friendship with Charlie Weasly was unknown to most everyone.

Summoning up her Gryffindor courage, Hermione sat up and began to put her things away before she dressed and left her bedroom. If Greyback was decent, he would ignore what happened.

She walked down the hallway, noticing that a bedroom door was closed. She could hear the shower running from the attached bath, but continued on her way into the front room. Hermione grabbed a book and began to take different notes of things she wanted to know about werewolves. She planned to ask Greyback.

* * *

_To be continued. . ._


End file.
